


architeuthis

by WeeBeastie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Flint has tentacles, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sea God, Tentacle Dick, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 01:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14486148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger





	architeuthis

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a lovely Tumblr prompt from a friend. Apparently this fandom needed some tentacle porn, so here I am, giving the people what they want. Enjoy!
> 
> ‘Architeuthis’ is the scientific name for the giant squid. The summary...prayer? Incantation? is borrowed from the A Song of Ice and Fire series, because I’m imagining this Flint as something like the drowned god, sorta.

It’s not much, really. It’s hardly even visible, and it blends in such that Silver wouldn’t have even noticed it, except that the thin, dexterous end of it is curling and uncurling, seeking. 

It’s a tentacle, as if from a squid or an octopus, except it’s sticking out from the captain’s left wrist as Silver is dragging his prone form ashore. It’s no easy task; the man is dead weight and feels unconscionably heavy. The movement of the tentacle catches his eye and before he can stop himself, he’s reaching out to it. It recoils as soon as his finger makes contact. It’s there and then it’s gone in the blink of an eye, and Silver is left wondering if he really saw anything at all. 

Not long after they take the fucking warship, Silver finds himself awake in the middle of the night, restless. He can’t seem to get into a deep sleep, so he leaves his hammock and walks up to the deck for some fresh air. Suddenly off to his right there’s a soft splash, but when he looks, he sees nothing. 

Something compels him to walk over to the rail and look down into the deep, dark water. There’s a shape moving gracefully through it, silent, just below the surface. At first Silver thinks it’s a shark, or a very large fish of some kind. As he leans further over the rail, though, the thing pops its head out of the water and it’s - it’s Flint. Naked, by the looks of him, taking an impromptu midnight swim off the side of the ship. 

“Captain?” Silver calls to him, confused. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Flint calls back, and he makes a noise like a snort, or a blustery sigh. “Join me if you like, the water is warm.”

Against his better judgment - the way he goes through life for the most part, to be honest - he strips down to his breeches and dives over the rail. He’s not the best at it but he manages, and as Flint promised, the water is warm. It’s welcoming and soothing, and Silver is treading water and feeling rather relaxed until he gets a good look at Flint up close. 

At first, nothing seems amiss. Then Flint blinks, and some kind of - film, or extra eyelid, slides back across each eyeball, revealing beneath them eyes that are large and round and luminous, still green in color but with a strange oblong pupil in each. Silver feels something brush his arm in the water, but it isn’t a hand. When he looks down, he sees a long, thick, red-orange tentacle, dappled like Flint’s freckles, curling around his bicep. 

“Captain?” he whispers, feeling fear roiling in his gut. Flint makes that snorting, sighing noise again and Silver sees them: gills, on either side of his throat, fluttering as he breathes. 

Flint grins. His teeth look sharp. Sharper than usual. 

“Does it frighten you, seeing me this way?” he asks. Another tentacle slips out of the surface of the water and skims up Silver’s bare chest to his throat, tracing over his collarbones, his chin. 

“No,” Silver lies as Flint moves closer to him in the water.

They’re almost nose to nose now, and at this proximity Flint’s eyes are even more alarming and otherworldly. He rests a hand on Silver’s cheek, and a small tentacle, no bigger around than Flint’s smallest finger, emerges from a minuscule slit in his wrist and curls over Silver’s lower lip, probing past his teeth and rolling over his tongue. It tastes briny and slightly acrid, but it feels smooth and soft in his mouth. It rubs over his teeth and briefly curls around his tongue before withdrawing, resting lightly on his cheek alongside Flint’s palm. 

Then there’s a sensation like a hand brushing the front of his breeches, fingers working the laces open. But one of Flint’s hands is still on his face, and the other is at his side, churning in the sea. When Silver looks down, through the darkness of the water he can just make out the shape of two more tentacles, about as big around as his wrist, nimbly opening his breeches. One slips inside. 

“What are you?” Silver gasps, struggling to keep his head above water against the sudden onslaught of sensations. How many appendages does this Flint have, he wonders. They’re _everywhere_. Four more, as thick as Flint’s thighs, wrap around Silver’s waist and hold him in place, supporting him such that he no longer needs to tread water. 

“A monster,” Flint whispers in his ear almost playfully. He makes a guttural, inhuman noise and his needle-like teeth close on Silver’s earlobe while one tentacle busies itself stroking his cock. 

Silver whines and squirms in Flint’s grasp. He doesn’t want to get away; it doesn’t really feel like he could even if he wished to, besides. He reaches down in the water to touch Flint like Flint is touching him, but where he expects to find a cock he finds instead three stout tentacles, almost as long as his forearm. They’re twined around each other and Silver hesitantly wraps his hand around all three at once, giving them an experimental stroke. Flint shudders and makes a noise like a growl, his teeth moving from Silver’s ear down along his jaw, biting here and there. 

Curious, Silver slips one finger into the apex of the three tentacles. It’s warm and slick inside and Flint grunts, pushing his hips toward Silver in an obvious demand for more. Silver explores inside the tentacles with three fingers, then four, thrusting them in and out. It’s becoming difficult to concentrate on what he’s doing with one of Flint’s tentacles stroking his cock and another creeping down between his thighs, curling around his balls for a moment and then probing him curiously. The tip of it eases inside Silver and he gasps at the intrusion, then moans softly. 

“Captain,” he says, breathless, writhing. There’s a tentacle inside him now and another wrapped around his cock, and the one resting on his cheek eases inside his mouth again. On impulse he sucks it while working his fingers inside Flint, feeling overwhelmed and wild. The water rushes around him and suddenly he’s got his back pinned to the rough wood of the ship, Flint’s tentacles everywhere, stroking and probing, thrusting. 

“Come on,” Flint growls in his ear and Silver feels those sharp teeth on his neck, stinging, drawing blood. Silver curls his fingers inside Flint’s tentacles and rubs the slick, warm surface, and the animalistic noise Flint makes in response thrills him. He feels something building in him unlike any orgasm he’s had before, as though Flint is drawing it out of him through sheer force of godlike will. His body draws tight and he sucks hard on the tentacle in his mouth to keep from biting down as he comes, his vision whiting out. Dimly he feels a burst of warm fluid around the hand he’s got in Flint’s tentacles, and hears him cry out, loud and feral. 

Then, nothing - the world goes black. 

When next he returns to consciousness, it’s morning. He’s on the ship, if the steady rocking he feels is any indication. When he opens his eyes, he realizes he’s in Flint’s cabin, lying on the window seat. The man himself is seated on the edge of his bed in his trousers, pulling a black shirt on over his head. He looks as human as any man Silver’s ever seen - no otherworldly eyes, no pointed teeth, no gills. 

No tentacles. 

“What happened?” Silver asks muzzily, sitting up and glancing around warily. He’s wearing only his breeches, but the rest of his clothing is folded in a neat pile at the end of the window seat. 

“You had a nightmare or fever dream of some sort. You were thrashing and carrying on so, the men came to get me and I took pity on you and brought you here,” Flint says, glancing over at Silver. He puts on his boots and stands, pausing by the window seat on his way out. “Well? Get dressed, there’s work to be done,” he tells him, and then he grabs his coat and is gone. 

Silver, bewildered and more than slightly disoriented, rises from his makeshift bed and puts on his clothes. He finds a looking glass among Flint’s things and uses it to examine his neck, twisting his head to one side and squinting, trying to see what he knows is there. 

At last, he sees them: a series of small pinprick tooth marks, little bloody wounds like a bite from an animal. 

Or a monster.


End file.
